Seven Stages Of Grief
by Avoline Malfoy
Summary: Clint goes through the stages of grief after the loss of his one true friend. Rated M for language.
1. Shock

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_And another bunny trail crossed my path. Wouldn't that figure? So, I've decided since I've given you guys so many happy little stories, it's time for a tear-jerker._

_This story is based off of the idea that Natasha didn't survive the New York fiasco. Each chapter, seven in all, will chronicle Clint's journey through the seven stages of grief._

_Not much to talk about, so I'll let you get right to it. Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Clint stared at the floor, shaking his head. It couldn't be true. Selvig had to be lying. The man had lost his mind once the Tesseracts spell had worn off. He could tell that much. But he could not process what the scientist was saying.

"No," he muttered. "No, no, no, it can't be true. Selvig, she can't be dead." The older man squeezed the archer's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, son," he replied. "The blast was too powerful. She didn't stand a chance." The blond closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

"She's not dead," he repeated. "She's fooling us. She found a way to survive. She always does."

"Clint," Tony called firmly. "Natasha's dead. There's no use in denying it." Clint shook his head one more time before putting it in his hands. This was Natasha Romanoff they were talking about. There was no way she was dead. She would always show up, very much alive, and give them all a piece of her mind for even thinking she was dead. More often than not, he would get the majority of her fury.

"Clint, listen to me," Tony continued. "When she hit the cube with the spear, it caused a blast. She was standing closest to it, and she got the brunt of the blast. She really didn't have a single chance of surviving." The grey-eyed man bit his lip to hold back the sobs, his mind wandering to when he first met her.

* * *

_He had an arrow trained on her, ready to fly. All he had to do was let it loose, and he could go home. His hands shook, though. If he followed his orders exactly, he would be no different than his father. He had to be different, and it would start with her._

_He put the arrow back in it's quiver and slid the bow across his torso. He still had an eye on her, even as he leapt from one rooftop to another to get to her. His lungs burned from the strain, but he refused to stop. Someone had to make this call and give her a chance._

_He landed on his feet, and looked up to find himself face to face with the barrel of a Glock .9._

_"What do you want," she demanded, her voice thick with a Russian accent. He raised his hands and slowly stood._

_"To make you an offer," he answered evenly. "You can make your choice later, just hear me out first." He watched her carefully, hoping that she wouldn't pull the trigger before he could speak to her._

_"Do you know who I am," she questioned warningly. He nodded._

_"You're Natasha Romanoff," he responded. "Trained by the Red Room for years, starting when you were very young. You have killed more men than anyone else alive, and you've been running for your life for a while now." She cocked her head at him, and he took the chance to continue. "I was sent to kill you, but I've decided on a different course of action. You've got a choice: you can kill me, and continue running, or you can stop now, join me, and lead a totally different life. A life where you don't have to be afraid anymore. Where, after doing whatever is asked of you, you can actually go home, wherever that maybe be, let your guard down, and not worry about anyone trying to kill you ever again. It's completely up to you, Natasha."_

_They stood, staring at each other, for what felt like hours. His eyes flickered from the gun to her face, then back again. If this was the day he died, at least he could die knowing that he tried to make a difference in someone's life. He was too late to save his brother, but he could at least save her._

_Finally, she lowered the gun, and he let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding._

_"Take me away from here," she pleaded softly. "Show me what this other life is like."_


	2. Denial

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_Now that we've seen the first stage, who's ready for the next stage?_

_The memories are, of course, a figment of my imagination. I'm just making them up as I go. I probably won't say much after this chapter cause there really isn't much to say._

_Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Clint stared at the door, waiting for her to walk in. She wasn't dead, and he knew it. It had just been a really bad dream. She probably took off once the portal was closed and took a spur-of-the-moment weekend to herself. He knew she did that after every tough mission. She did it after dealing with Stark, and after Budapest.

He laughed at the memory. The last thing he remembered telling her directly was that they remembered that mission very differently, but he knew better. He remembered it so vividly, and how they had chose to unwind before she took off for her "me" time.

He grabbed his phone. Maybe she had messaged him and he didn't hear it. Or maybe she had called and he had left his phone on silent again. He grinned, remembering how many times she had bitched at him about leaving the damn thing on silent.

But there was nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Not a fucking thing to let him know anything. He sighed and put his phone back on the arm of the couch, his eyes returning to the door. Did she leave for good? Or was Selvig and Tony right?

No. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. There was so much he needed to tell her. He wasn't ready to let her go. He would hunt her down. He's done it before.

He grabbed his boots and slid them on. He knew where he needed to go.

* * *

_He waited outside the hotel. He knew she was in there. He'd been watching the place for a few days now. All he wanted to do was make sure she was okay._

_"You're a stubborn one, Barton," a voice called, and he turned to see her walking towards him. He gave a sheepish grin, knowing he had been caught._

_"Just had to make sure," he replied. "Kind of a tough mission, even for me." She smiled and kept walking, and he pushed himself off the wall and followed her._

_"Maybe you should do what I do," she stated._

_"What, disappear for a few days," he questioned._

_"Yes," she responded. "It helps me clear my mind." She turned down an alley, and he didn't hesitate. She whipped around to face him. "I know this was tough. Your'e still shaking. But Clint, we had to do it. It won't get any easier, but I can promise that eventually you won't think twice." He sighed and looked away, his smile fading quickly._

_"Then how am I any different than my dad," he muttered. Her hand gripped his arm._

_"Because you know, deep inside, that it's not something you're doing just for the fuck of it," she explained. He stared at her from the corner of his eye._

_Then he grabbed her arm and pressed his lips against hers before she could blink._


	3. Anger

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

He whipped around and slammed his fist through the wall. She wasn't there. He thought for sure she would be there, yet she wasn't. She wasn't anywhere that he thought she would be. Tony and Selvig were right. How could he have let her do that alone? He cursed and punched another hole in the wall.

He should have been there. It should have been him, not her. Not the best spy and assassin S.H.I.E.L.D had. He had saved her life when his orders were to kill her, yet he failed to make sure she stayed alive.

He turned and grabbed Josie. Maybe he could release his anger without breaking his good hand in the process. It throbbed from the abuse he had put it through, but he pushed the pain away. He reached for the pile of arrows, grabbing one and readying it within seconds. He aimed at the target across the room, steadying his breathing, just like Trickshot had taught him.

He let loose the arrow, and watched as it flew right into the bulls-eye. He grabbed another and drilled it into the one before it, then another. With each arrow that flew, he felt his anger ebb away. As he hit his target with ease, he let his mind wander to the first time she saw his anger.

The time he feared becoming like his father, more than any other time.

* * *

_"Natasha, that's not how it's done," he repeated, his rage growing more and more. "There were too many innocent lives at stake. If you had hit even one person, INCLUDING our mark, it would have blown our cover!"_

_"We would have completed the mission," she argued, the Russian accent barely noticeable._

_"Not in S.H.I.E.L.D's eyes," he practically screamed. "We would have failed because of that one casualty!" She muttered something in Russian, and he knew it was an insult. He raised his fist..._

_And slammed it into the wall next to him._

_She gasped, and he looked away. Damn him and his anger. He had slipped and shown her the side of him he had been trying to bury. He felt the tears sting his eyes, and he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. He should have never raised his fist to her. No matter how angry he was or what kind of shit she has been through, he had no right to do that. She was still a woman, and he couldn't say just yet if she could beat him in a fight should he loose control of his anger._

_"Clint," she whispered._

_"I'm sorry," he muttered, pressing his hand further against the wall. "Anger issues. Runs in the family. Doesn't give me an excuse but it does explain a bit better." She stepped forward and reached for his other hand._

_"I could handle it," she soothed._

_"But I can't," he responded. "If I ever did to you what my dad used to do, I'd never forgive myself. I'd only prove that I can't avoid becoming the monster he was."_

_"You've already proven that you're not him," she countered. "You could have simply killed me. You could have just put that arrow through my head and be done with it. But you didn't. You made a different call, and for that, I owe you my life." He shook his head._

_"Don't say it like that," he stated softly, almost pleading with her. "Don't make it out to be the best thing to ever happen."_

_"But it was," she insisted. "Look at how far I've come since then. I no longer live in fear. I can finally relax and know that I won't wake up to a gun in my face. You gave me something that I never thought I could have. And for that, I owe you." He lifted his head and met her gaze. They stood in silence, staring at each other, and he felt his body relax under her gaze. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his._

_Maybe he wasn't like his dad after all._


	4. Bargaining

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

He threw the beer bottle against the wall, not near as satisfied with watching it shatter as he thought he would be. He collapsed into the chair and stared as the amber liquid slid down the wallpaper.

"Take me," he whispered. "Please, send her back and take me instead." When his plea was met with silence, he stood and kicked the chair down. "Damn it, please, just swap us out! How hard is that to do?" He waited, wondering if the deity he was praying to would even listen. If he got an answer at all, it would probably scare him to death.

He finally walked into his bedroom, drained emotionally and mentally. This week had taken it's toll, and he felt as though he had lived a hundred years. He fell limp onto the bed and stared at where she would normally lay, tears stinging his eyes.

"Please, I'm begging you," he muttered, trying one last time to bargain a way to bring her back. "If this is my life from now on, I don't want it. Just send her back and take me instead." His eyes slid closed, exhaustion taking over.

He cried as he slept, quietly begging for some sort of bargain.

* * *

_"Clint, seriously," she hissed over the phone. "I'm trying to fucking work."_

_"What, watching Tony Stark," he joked. "At least it's more interesting than what I'm doing. I'm staring at a goddam hammer stuck in the ground! How hard is it for Fury to swap us out?"_

_"You're watching the hammer cause you're better at keeping a close eye on things," she answered. "I'm doing this cause I'm better at going undetected. But Stark is also good at doing his homework."_

_"Don't tell me he's figured out who you really are," he questioned, concern lacing his voice._

_"Yeah, he has," she replied. "I played it off as he had me mistaken, but I was more worried about Pepper catching on."_

_"Oh, so she's Pepper now and not Ms. Potts," he teased._

_"You are so paying for that when they give us a moment alone," she warned._

_"And how I look forward to that, Nat," he responded smoothly._


	5. Depression

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

Clint stared at the phone as it rang for the fifteenth time. He didn't want to deal with the outside world right now. He just wanted to be alone. He didn't want to hear the truth. It would only make everything more real. All he wanted was a bottle of whiskey to drown out everything.

The phone stopped ringing, and he decided to check the voicemails and see who all has called. He was sure that Fury had called a few times. He just didn't have it in him to answer.

"Clint, it's Bruce," a voice stated over the speaker. "Look, locking yourself away isn't going to help. It's only going to make it hurt worse once you finally face it. The sooner you deal with it, the less it'll hurt in the long run. And drinking yourself to death won't do any good either." The man sighed, and Clint bit his tongue. "Her death affected everyone, Clint. You don't have to do this to yourself."

Clint deleted the voicemail.

"Hey, it's Tony. You realize you aren't going through this alone, right? We're all hurt by her death. You don't have to deal with it all by yourself. If you'll let us, we can try and help. I'm not sure how much help we'll be, but I'm sure we'll be more helpful than that bottle of liquor. Just let us know you're alive, okay buddy?"

Clint delete that one as well, and let his mind wander as Steve's voice droned on.

* * *

_"Clint, don't blame yourself," she soothed._

_He watched, half drunk, as she took what was left of the whiskey from him and put it in the fridge. He could still see the body in his mind, his arrow sticking out of both sides of the young woman's head. He had been aiming at the war lord he was suppose to take out, but the girl had run into the line of fire at the last minute. Natasha had taken out the mark at the same moment, but he couldn't erase the image from his mind._

_"She wasn't suppose to be there," he mumbled, his voice laced with regret. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and he let his eyes drift shut._

_"It wasn't your fault," she repeated as he leaned into her touch. "It was an accident."_

_"But how do I get it out of my head," he whispered. Her thumb stroked his cheek bone, and he felt her free hand slide under his tank top._

_"Maybe I can help," she replied, her voice low and sultry. He opened his eyes to find her reaching for his belt._

_"Nat," he warned softly._

_"Just sit back and enjoy yourself," she commanded, undoing his belt._

_Enjoy himself, he did._


	6. Testing

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

"Come on, Bruce," he pleaded, following the scientist around the lab. "Surely there's something, some _way_, to bring her back. Her body's still in perfect condition, right?" Bruce sighed and gave the blond a sad look.

"Clint, that's not the issue," he repeated for the tenth time. "She's gone. She's been dead for over a week now. There's nothing we could have done even on the day that she-"

"Bruce, please," the silver-eyed man begged, barely holding his emotions at bay. "She's the best agent S.H.I.E.L.D has."

"Had," the shorter man corrected. "You keep talking like we could still save her. Clint, there's nothing left to save. She was gone long before she hit the gravel." Clint shook his head.

"Bruce, you don't mean that," he muttered. "She wouldn't have given up that easily, on anyone." The raven-haired man sighed again.

"Look, Clint, we've already tried every viable option," he explained. "While you were holed up in your room, we tried every serum, every reanimation device, everything. Nothing worked. She's gone. As much as we all hate it, nothing will bring her back." Clint sunk into a chair, looking everywhere but at Bruce.

He didn't want the other man to see the tears.

* * *

_"You know I can't imagine working with anyone else, right?"_

_She giggled at him from the bathroom, her petite frame swallowed whole by his t-shirt. He bunched the covers up at his groin, hoping they would cover his growing erection. He had joined her this time, not trusting the crowd that had almost caught them. He didn't want her to wake up and find herself outnumbered._

_He wasn't sure if he could stand loosing her._

_"Clint, you're like a child stuck in an adult's body," she laughed. He grinned as she slid under the covers with him._

_"Then would you be shocked if I told you how I really felt," he questioned, testing the waters. He had been growing feelings for her, but he wanted to know where she stood as far as that particular subject. He didn't want to be rejected, not by her._

_"I would laugh and say if you mean love, love is for children," she answered, and he smiled despite the ache in his chest._

_She would never accept his feelings. If she truly felt that love was for children, then he would just have to love her in his mind and never speak of it. He knew, with the nature of their job, she could die tomorrow. But he would never be able to deal with the rejection. He would rather her not know and go on without a care, than for her to know and laugh in his face._

_All he wanted was for her to be pleased with her life._


	7. Acceptance

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_Well, I guess this is it. The last chapter. This went by pretty fast. I didn't think it would, but it did._

_I want to thank everyone who favorited and followed. I'm tempted to do a sequel, but only if you, the readers, want it. So, let me know in your own way if you want a full-length sequel or not._

_Once again, thank you for joining me in this journey._

_I now present the last stage of grief: Acceptance._

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Clint walked up to the casket, barely holding back the tears as he stared at her body. She was dressed in her typical gear, something he knew she would have wanted. He glanced at the words embroidered on the inside of the lid.

_Natasha Romanoff_

_Natalia Romanova_

He let the mournful whimper pass his lips. This was it. It was time for him to say goodbye and accept that she was gone. For over a week, he had been fighting it, not wanting to face the fact that he would never get to see her again, never get to speak to her again, never get to hold her in his arms again. He would never fight along side her any more. The memories would be the only thing left of her.

"Nat," he whispered, his voice barely there. "Oh, Nat, if you only knew. If I could have only had the strength to tell you, and now I'm having to tell you long after you've gone. I love you, Natasha. I always have, and always will. I have loved you for a few years now, but was too scared to tell you. You're probably laughing right now, saying that love is for children. Then consider me a child, Tasha." He took a deep breath as a tear slid down his face. "I wish it had been me instead of you. I wish I had been the one to take the impact of that blast. You could have went on with your life and never had to think of me again. I'll never be able to get you out of my heart, Tasha."

And he meant it. He would never be able to carve her from his heart, and he would never be able to fill the gaping hole left by her. She would always be the only woman he ever loved, and now he had lost her forever.

"Wait for me, Natasha. Wait for me on the other side. I don't know how long you'll have to wait, but one day I'll join you. And I'll never let you go, Nat. I promise."

The lid closed, ending his last moment with her body. He sunk into the chair next to Bruce, watching as the heavy coffin was lowered from the Helicarrier to the sea. He closed his eyes and let the tears flow freely, using all of his strength to not break down in front of his team. He waited, listening for the gears to stop.

Listening for the moment that would sound her final goodbye.

* * *

_"Clint, we might not make it out alive," she murmured._

_"I know, Nat," he replied. "But we can't let Loki get away with this. If we do nothing, he wins. Just promise me one thing, Natasha." Her green eyes met his._

_"Anything." He took a deep breath, knowing that these might be the last words he says to her. He could die today, but he needed a promise from her before he would fight._

_"Promise me that you'll stay alive." She smiled._

_"You know I will."_


End file.
